


Tabula Rasa

by Lumina_Rosaria



Series: For Want of a Nail (Emissaries of Change) [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: ...i think, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blowing up stuff in the name of therapy, Cayde-6 Lives (Destiny), Cayde’s pet chicken will make a cameo, Enemies to Friends, Everybody Lives, He also ends up having a little flying friend, I think Murphy’s law is going to have a field day here, Lots of issues to work out, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel Fix-It, Two guys causing problems everywhere they go, Uldren Sov Lives (Destiny), Work In Progress, Zavala and Ikora’s disappointed stares (TM), and Jolyon has to deal with them as usual, and somewhat acts a little less of a jerk than canon, by that I mean it gets minor edits at some point, if you know what i mean, references to destiny lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28605219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumina_Rosaria/pseuds/Lumina_Rosaria
Summary: His steps are taken with confidence, yet he himself is not. A glance at his frien— Jolyon tells him the other isn’t either. A shaky exhale of air threatens to escape his lips and he forces the urge back down. Instead, he arranges a small smirk on his face. Keep up appearances, fake it till you make it, whatever piece of overused advice could help him lie better. Hide better.The doors open.There are few people inside. Fear aside, he continues walking with feigned non-chalance. Behind him, he hears a sigh followed by a whisper of his name.Uldren tries not to laugh at the hint of concern in the tone.-:-Something has changed, Awoken Queen Mara Sov thinks as she observes the man in front of her, a stranger wearing the face of her brother. Meanwhile at the Last City’s Tower, Hunter Vanguard Cayde-6 is still trying to wrap his head around everything that’s happening to him. As for the Forsaken Prince Uldren Sov? To be back in Awoken territory, amongst secrets, schemes, and people he can’t look at without needing to run...? He’s just trying to hold it together, thank you very much.Sooner or later something is bound to crack—if it hasn’t already.
Relationships: Uldren & Glint | Pulled Pork (Destiny), Uldren Sov & Cayde-6 & Jolyon Till the Rachis Friendship
Series: For Want of a Nail (Emissaries of Change) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140290
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	1. Flashpoint | Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting here.  
> Yes this story starts out the way it does. Had a lot of fun writing this part.  
> Kinda made Uldren sound like he’s gone suicidal now, haha. But yeah, this is just my interpretation of his state of mind during the ending scene occurs. Just a (sort of trigger) warning to you all.  
> It’s been a long time since I’ve played the game (stopped before Beyond Light) and am brushing up on the lore, so forgive me if I get anything wrong or if the characters sound a little OOC (I want to keep them as close to original as possible but there could be some really minor changes).  
> I also didn’t know Uldren was a twin! That was fun to write about, and interesting to work with.  
> Hope I do well.  
> See you next chapter.

It was pitiful.

 _He_ was pitiful.

Why didn’t he _see_ this before…?

Why _didn’t_ he see this before?

To have done everything asked of him, only to wind up literally in the belly of the beast —ensnared and swallowed up by that disgustingly grotesque ball that reeked of _Taken_ which had spawned in his sister’s place. Trapped within its organic flesh walls and sharp teeth, that horrible claustrophobic feeling running overtime as it pulled him towards its center, towards his demise as it struggled to merge him to its corrupted core. And it would have succeeded, were it not for the Guardian stepping in to kill it off, thus setting him free.

_Stupid...fucking...shit—!_

It hurts. Everything hurts. He’s lying on the cold tile floor of the Watchtower’s gate room, his entire body weak and in pain after having been spat out unceremoniously at the end of the battle _it_ had against the Lightbearer. Defenseless, defeated, and oh so very tired...

But had it been worth it? Had his mission been accomplished? Uldren thinks so. Uldren hopes so. This entire journey had been taken with Mara in mind: to release his dear twin sister from the confines of the Watchtower that held her prisoner, to be there as she took her first steps back amongst the corporal world. He made sure to follow her plan to the letter. There were no doubts in his mind when he presented the shard to the gate itself. So surely it had been a success? Mara was back, right? She had to be!

“Mara...?” Uldren calls out to her, voice raspy and reduced to a whisper. “Mara..where are you?”

No reply came forth. That little hum of starlight at the back of his head was missing. There were no whispers in his ears or soft touches on his skin to indicate her almost omnipresence beside him. Guiding him.

Nothing.

“Sister...sister, please!” he tries again, a little louder, desperation creeping in his voice as orange eyes frantically search the room. “Why won’t... why aren’t you—?”

Uldren pauses mid-sentence. Footsteps, heavy and filled with that sense of righteous purpose all Guardians are known for, were beginning to grow closer enough to be audible.

With grunts and labored breathing, Uldren forces himself to move, yet could barely lift his upper body properly off the floor, much less muster up enough energy to crawl with haste. He takes a quick peek behind his shoulders and curses silently. The Guardian was quickly approaching and here he was, on the floor going nowhere because his damned body wasn’t cooperating!

_Fucking...pathetic…useless piece of SHIT-_

The footsteps stop.

Sensing no way to escape his predicament, Uldren turns around, chuckling when his ears pick up the sound of a familiar handgun’s safety release being clicked off.

The Ace of Spades was _dangerously_ close to his person.

“Congratulations. You have my undivided attention,” he says morosely with a hint of suppressed anger evident in his eyes. At having his rescue attempt sabotaged by that _thing_ or on finding himself at the mercy of the Guardian who took it down, Uldren wasn’t too sure which of the two pissed him off the most to think about. Ultimately, both were unfortunate setbacks, yes, and setbacks were what Uldren was well accustomed to. The humiliation and failure? It meant nothing to a person who has endured so much and survived against odds that would leave others broken.

Yes, his endurance of humiliation and survival against failure and defeat were strengths Mara never truly possessed. And it was why Mara needed him! So where...?

“Now where’s my sister?” he demands. Mara hasn’t responded to his calls. Uldren is alone in the room with the Guardian and she's NOT HERE. But didn’t he...? Didn’t he set her free? Did not he follow the plan correctly? Uldren was sure he did. So Mara had to be here. Mara was always with him, whispering ideas and words of encouragement. She couldn’t have just disappeared. She called out to him and he answered. His beloved twin sister stood by him as he suffered through torture and degradation at the hands of his enemies, through lost nights of sleep and imprisonment, through every hurdle he forced himself past to get to the Watchtower and save her! 

That bloody monster may have gotten in the way, but there’s no _reason_ for Mara not to—

“She’s not here, Uldren,” A familiar female voice replies to him. An Awoken woman steps out from among the shadows (Petra Venj, he suddenly recalls) with her Vestian Dynasty sidearm drawn and pointed at him. Uldren turns to look up at her with a frown.

“And if she was,” Petra continues with a pointed glare as she came to a complete stop in front of him, “this would be a whole lot easier.”

 _You lie, fake Queen!_ his mind quickly retorts in denial. _Mara would NEVER abandon me! S_ _he wouldn’t! She WOULDN’T—!_

_Then where is she, if not with you?_

Uldren looks away.

Petra’s words, as much as he hadn’t wanted to hear them, cut through his soul; her eyes held the truth she spoke. Uldren had no idea why he knew this, why he felt Petra was speaking the truth, yet he _does,_ and now there is a feeling of pain that is starting to affect him but he thinks it’s in his head. Or perhaps it was his body that was hurting, from falling onto the floor? Right? Yes, the pain had to be because of that. It HAD to be! Because then the alternative…

His body slumps downward, back almost touching the floor were it not for his elbows holding him up with what little energy he could muster. 

_Because the alternative_ , Uldren thinks with growing alarm, _would mean that this pain is coming from a place much, much deeper than mere physical ailments._

_No..._

It would be emotional pain.

_Oh, no, no, no...._

It would mean it was coming from his heart.

_Please, no, no, no, no..._

It would mean he was lying to himself and he knew it.

_No, no, no, NO, NOOO—!_

“So,” Uldren says, looking up at the two avengers with an almost impassive face, save for the half-hearted sneer at the last words of his sentence. “This is to be a reckoning.”

A few seconds of silence pass between the three of them before the Guardian’s flying nuisance, hovering ever so slightly to the side of its undead charge, decided to make its presence known. It begins to speak but Uldren barely pays attention. To him the world has silenced, has slowed to the point of suspension as reality came knocking in the form of a small, pained whisper from his subconscious.

_Mara never answered you because she was never with you. That thing that died used her image to trick you. You’ve been following a hallucination of a dead woman._

With that, the golden web of hopes and dreams he’s weaved to keep himself together finally unravels, and everything begins to fall apart.

 _My sister is gone. My twin is dead._ _My TWIN is DEAD._

Uldren could feel his heart beating faster and faster, pounding against his chest. His body is starting to feel cold and clammy. Tiny stars are dancing at the corners of his eyes and he should be concerned, yet all he wants to do is scream to the point of losing his voice but he can’t without making a spectacle of himself in front of his executioners. So Uldren closes his eyes and looks down, trying to calm himself. Trying to breathe. Failing miserably.

_I lost half of my soul. I lost half of my heart. I FAILED TO SAVE HER._

Petra suddenly raises her voice. It startles him long enough to finally get some air inside his lungs before he is pulled right back into the vortex that is his mental breakdown.

 _YOUFAILEDYOUFAILEDYOUFAILED_ , his mind chants repeatedly, relentlessly. The words make Uldren want to tear apart the cosmos to rectify his error, to rid himself of the slow crushing _guilt_ consuming his mind. But he can’t, he’s powerless, so he settles for staring blankly at Petra and the Guardian. Inwardly, he wants to cry and curl up into a ball, wishing to have died with his sister in space rather than having survived existing in perpetual suffering and anguish. Death at the hands of the Taken King would have been preferable to living with the realisation that Mara wasn’t _here_ and that she was _NEVER_ here and that HE HAD BEEN TRICKED by some insidious being that had NO SHAME in using HIS DEAR SISTER to PLAY HIM.

_YOUFAILEDYOUFAILEDYOUFAILED_

Yes. He let Mara down. He let his people down. He did not deserve to live. Death was the only option. The final option.

Catching the last few words of their exchange, Uldren slowly looks back up at his two “judges”, an air of suicidal mania seeping into his body and blowing out the flames that signified his will to live.

“Yes…what _would_ the notorious Cayde-6 do?” He questions aloud, leaning back from his spot on his floor. Uldren then lazily waves a hand towards the Guardian. More specifically, to what was in the Guardian’s hand. “You have his gun. Seems you get the last word.”

 _LASTWORDLASTWORD_ , his fraying mind takes to the words like a prayer. _DEATHFORTHEFAILURE! DEATHFORTHEFAILURE! DEATHFORTHEFAILURE!_

Uldren mentally grins to himself. Yes, Death would be a welcome reprieve for someone such as himself! Besides, it didn’t matter anymore if he keeled over —everything was apparently a lie! His life was a joke, his crusade was a JOKE and he had been played like a FOOL. And for WHAT? Believing in a delusion that meant nothing in the end? A delusion born as a result of wishful thinking, of hope and desire? Believing and following a sister who WASN’T HIS SISTER? Uldren wants to laugh out loud and skip around the room. He wants to hold hands with Petra and the Guardian and spin around until he can’t take it anymore and he passes out from excitement.

But they wouldn’t understand. From the way they were looking at his pathetic form, Uldren knew they wouldn’t find it funny. Especially Petra.

 _Especially_ Petra.

Uldren slowly shifts his aching body into a more comfortable position.

Poor, poor little Petra. Always eager to please. Swearing to have undying, unwavering loyalty to her Queen. Constantly seeking Mara's approval as her Wrath. His own devotion to Mara is paraequal if not more than Petra's, and yet she refuses to UNDERSTAND? Refuses to SEE?

_Oh, Petra..._

“Everything I did, I did for _HER!_ ” He shouts at the Awoken woman, as she and the Guardian continue to remain silent. Judging. Ignorant to the end. _I suffered and bled for her cause, Petra! Can you say the SAME? I KILLED and MURDERED and RUINED with a touch of my FINGERS in the NAME of the QUEEN! I SPUN A WEB OF CHAOS AND CATERED TO ILLUSIONS TO SAVE MY SISTER!_

… _And for what, exactly? For what, when she wasn’t ever really....?_

Uldren tilts his head back, chuckling humorlessly. 

_For want of a nail..._

“Funny. The line between Light and Dark is _so_ very thin,” he finally says with a low voice before shooting the Guardian a dark, questioning look. “Do you know which side _you're_ on?”

Uldren already knows the answer. He’ll welcome it with open arms and a smile. 

_End me, oh mighty Guardian, for I have taken away the one you cared for._

However, the question causes conflicting thoughts to swirl inside the Guardian’s head, indicated by the slight lowering of the Ace of Spades.

_What are you doing!?_

The seconds of silence are maddening. Uldren knows what’s coming. He knows it oh so very well. Yet the Guardian looks troubled! The Traveler’s murdering poppet has the gall to look _troubled_ and Uldren wants to laugh, possibly even help usher in the inevitable.

_End me! End me!_

Uldren can see Petra giving the Guardian a sideways glance.

 _Yes! Yes! Little Petra, I know you want to. E_ _ND ME!_

With newfound confidence, the Ace is once again raised and aimed alongside Petra’s Vestian.

He inwardly smiles. _How fitting._

Cayde and Petra. Vengeance and Retribution.

The irony in dying by the very weapon used to kill its owner with is so very poetic.

As Uldren takes one final look at the scene in front of him, all he could hope for was a quick death. A quick death was needed to see Mara sooner after all. And it was the least he was owed—it’s what he gave that idiot Hunter Vanguard mercifully in the end.

_YES!ENDMEIVEGOTNOTHINGTOLIVEFOR!_

Uldren closes his eyes. For a brief moment, all he could feel was giddiness, the bursting excitement deep within him in anticipation of the beyond. Of the hereafter. ( _Wait!_ ) To finally be reunited with his sister in starlight, to leave behind this wretched world filled with undead knights playing the hero in service to their giant necromancer in the sky, ( _STOP!_ ) and away from secrets hidden behind tight smiles and honeyed words, forgetting the nightmare he lived through to get to this point…

_(NO!)_

It’s what he wanted.

_(LISTEN TO ME!)_

It’s what he needed—

_I DON’T WANT TO DIE!_

Uldren stiffens.

 _PLEASE_ , his traitorous mind pleads as it breaks through the wall of disorganised thoughts swirling around his head like a rampaging hurricane. _ALL I WANTED WAS MY SISTER BACK! I DIDN’T MEAN FOR ALL THIS TO HAPPEN! I JUST WANTED TO SAVE HER!_

 _I just wanted to see her…to hold her… Please, understand me…_ _I missed her so much...!_

_Please…_

_I’m so sorry…_

_I don’t want to die..._

_Please_...

The last thing the Forsaken Prince Uldren Sov hears is the sound of a gunshot, followed by a slight pressure in his forehead before the world turns black.

_Please..._


	2. Flashpoint | Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sat on this for too long. Sorry. Long chapter though. They will all be long chapters, but not as long as this. Referencing lore, and my interpretation of it. Hope I did well. See you in the next chapter.

He remembers it all.

Distant stars twinkling against the backdrop of infinite space. A young man’s reflection stares back at him, face once marred with bruises received during another messy fight seemingly blemish-free. “Uldwyn,” a woman’s voice softly calls out to him —he does not need to turn around to know that it is Mara, his fraternal twin sister— as she stands beside him in front of the compartment window. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Mara’s own eyes slowly close, and soon he hears her fingers idly drum feather-light taps against cold steel. It makes him let go of the breath of air he hadn’t noticed he was holding. It is peaceful: the low hum of the Yang Liwei’s many engines is as soothing as a lullaby, forever a constant companion in their rare moments alone together; ad nauseam of their role as Autugre aboard the interstellar vessel.

To go beyond the solar system, to find and create new worlds, and to end human dependency on the Traveler. That is the purpose of the Yang Liwei and Project Amrita, the Charter outlining the mission memorized to heart by all those in charge of its success. Yang Liwei was outfitted with the finest in cutting-edge technology for this very purpose. She was ready for anything.

_**-COLD, FRIGID AIR. NO LIGHT. NO WARMTH-** _

Stars gone. Absolute darkness. The panic takes hold as fluctuations of atoms and energy rippled throughout the ship. Everyone huddles, whispering reassurances despite uncertainty. His mother Osana’s worried face stares back but he cannot stay. One-track mind: Mara, Mara, _Mara_. _Mara_ is missing. _Mara_ is drifting out into the void. He tries to follow but there’s a pulse, a flash of light that nearly blinds him. Mara is tetherless and he cannot reach her —not where he is at the moment, several meters behind. A singularity; a pull. Air escapes him as he is trapped within its tight grasp. He cannot escape and begins to scream. Then the _fallingcompressingSTRETCHEDTOSTRINGS_ —

They, along with the rest of the crew of nine hundred and their forty-thousand slumbering passengers, find only death.

_**-DARK VOID. COMPLETE EMPTINESS. ABSOLUTE SILENCE-** _

He remembers it all.

Awakening to the feeling of fine dirt and cool stone beneath him, a gentle breeze caressing exposed skin. A woman’s face hovers above him. Despite her now shining blue eyes and ethereal-like pale blue skin, Mara is as familiar as he remembered her to be. “Uldren,” she says softly, and he quickly understands. Countless other awakenings followed a pattern similar to his, and soon there are thousands. Created by the schism between Light and Dark, they are the Awoken, and the pocket-world named “the Distributary” is their paradise. Together they live through a golden age filled with exploration, repopulation, and development of salvaged eutech under the sovereignty of Queen Alis Li; watched as strife fueled by centuries of subtle manipulations, schisms, secrets, and half-truths eventually led to a partial exodus of he and all those who heeded Mara’s call to return to the old heavens.

To Sol.

_**-FLOATING ENDLESSLY. NO DIRECTION. LOST-** _

Their first home was the Reef: what they called the wreckage of interconnected derelict ships. After a while they began to spread out, salvaging and structuring pathways and defenses all around the asteroid belt. Mara had him undergo many expeditions amongst the new-old stars, continuously deploying his drones and surveying areas of interest, discovering the new location of the Traveler by mere happenstance and nearly dying by the Fallen he encountered in the process. He returns during the Long Unquiet Night hearing whispers of Mara’s voice speaking to him; the disappointment on his sister’s face as almost half of her people depart to Earth. The Awoken are once again riven, divided by the sense of duty to help their human cousins versus staying hidden.

It is during the unification of the now mortal Awoken under their true-Queen Mara Sov that he becomes their Queensbrother: Prince of the Awoken, heir to the Awoken Throne. The Fallen’s attack on 4 Vesta prompts the establishing of the Awoken military and patrol system, societal hierarchy, and an important mission from Mara: to acquire a power for the creation of their new domain.

He returns with an Ahamkara, and the Dreaming City becomes a reality.

_**-SOMETHING WHISPERS. ECHOES. LAUGHTER. IT LIES-** _

He remembers it all.

It begins with a statement directed to an Awoken man lying beside him during their routine target practice out at the range. This man’s name was Jolyon Till the Rachis and he was his right-hand man, famous amongst the Crows of the Black Hull, and both his best friend and close companion. It was to this man whom he pitches his idea, who he eventually talks into joining him in his exploration of the forbidden Black Garden; the entire otherworldly experience leaves its mental scars in a friendship that soon proved too difficult to mend. His own growing obsession over the Garden and its beautiful horrors is the proverbial knife that cuts the cord tying them together, and over the next few days, they slowly drift apart.

**_-SOFT TOUCHES. IT SLITHERS. MALEVOLENT-_ **

It continues with a report by two of their corsairs about an intruder on their doorstep: one of the Traveler’s undead puppets and its necromancer seeking counsel with the Queen. They want access to the Black Garden and as much as he wants to keep them away, his sister grants them their aid. It leads to the destruction of both said Garden's heart and the potential path for the Awoken he saw in its existence. And when the House of Wolves —their conquest in the Reef Wars— rebelled against them, his sister ordered the opening of the Reef to the Guardians. His sister then orders him to help Petra and the Guardians with the efforts to neutralize the threat Skolas posed, and he struggled to hide his displeasure whenever he interacted with those Lightbearers.

_**-WET SMELL. SLOWLY CONSUMES. MORE WHISPERS. CANNOT MOVE-** _

It ends with the arrival of Oryx, the Taken King. His sister’s Ketch is decimated by a single shot fired from The Taken King’s Dreadnaught, the ensuing blast sending him careening towards Mars and rendering him unconscious upon impact in the Candor Isles.

And he breaks.

He breaks from the loss of his Queen, for the death of his twin. He breaks under the heat of the sun and the many attempts at leaving the Martian atmosphere in his ship ending in failures. He breaks from the void he feels in his heart, from becoming a twinless twin; his mind fabricating hope to keep himself sane. He breaks when he thinks about returning to his people without their Queen, for he cannot be the leader they need when he doesn’t believe anymore. He breaks from the self-isolation, from the fights that leave him battered and bruised in his search for other options of escape, then from weeks of torture and degradation and debasement by the House of Kings. He breaks to the point that he can hear his sister calling out to him and he clings on to that voice, even when it leads him to commit terrible things in the name of finding HER.

_**-PAIN. PAIN. DEATHLY COLD. ENGULFING, SUFFOCATING-** _

He breaks as he ushers in the first of the Scorn, attacking and murdering his fellow Awoken with the Kings, breaks as he confronts the Coven Mother and allows himself to be imprisoned without resistance. He breaks when the Last City’s Hunter Vanguard, at the edge of permanent death following the destruction of its flying ball, brings up his sister as some sort of dark joke. It twists a knife already plunged deep into his heart and it hurts so much to be reminded of his failures that he quickly executes the Exo on the spot. He breaks when he devotedly follows Mara’s commands, casting aside all self-doubts as he acquires the shard of the Traveler and brings it to the Watchtower.

_**-LIES. LIES. BURNING, CRUSHING PAIN AND LIES-** _

He is completely broken beyond repair when he realizes that Mara was never really with him; that everything he did was for naught. And so he found himself facing death at the hands of irony and vengeance, inwardly pleading for mercy. A wish he knew would never come true…

_(There was once a deeply devoted brother-Prince who gave up everything he had for the approval of his sister-Queen…)_

_**[The line between Light and Dark is so very thin]** _

He is Uldren Sov: brother of the late Awoken Queen Mara Sov, Murderer of Cayde-6, the Mad Prince, and father to the Scorn...and he _REMEMBERS IT ALL._

**- _HELP_** _**ME HELP ME HELP ME SAVE ME-** _

.

Distant, muffled voices were the first things to catch his attention.

The second was the deep pounding of his wildly beating heart against his chest, all to the effect of the rising _anxietypanicFEAR_ that surged throughout his entire body; urgent warning signals firing in his brain screaming for him to _RUN-_

Uldren opened his eyes and was instantly blinded by the sheer brightness of the scenery around him. His arms raise in reflex, trying to block the amount of light entering his corneas, and he misses noting the creeping vines that lined the ground around him. His mad dash to escape the looming danger his mind says exists ends with his boot catching on a raised section of the tangled mess, falling face-first to the ground.

A mouthful of something semi-liquid makes its way down his throat. Its iron-rust taste and slimy, crawly texture cause Uldren to quickly raise his upper body off the brownish-black muck and violently spew out the contents of his stomach to expel the vile combination out of his mouth. This leaves a horrid burning sensation in his esophagus; Uldren spits out bloody saliva and leftover stomach acid in his mouth, much to the dismay of the distant muffled voice as its subdued footfalls grow closer. He then rolls over, back to the ground, huffing and coughing as he fights to get a healthy breath of air inside his lungs. The feelings of panic and trepidation start to subside, and as light rain gently hits his face, he closes his eyes to block any of the rainwater from entering them while willing his breathing back to some semblance of calm.

However, laying on the ground allows the smell of wet earth mixed with sweet flora to reach his nose, and Uldren stills as he feels the faint traces of something cold and thin slithering all over his body...

“…!”

The muffled voice's owner makes its arrival known by footsteps sloshing the muddy liquid next to him. There is a pause, then small vibrations as a heavy presence is felt beside his left arm, followed by a sensation of cold fingers pressing the sides of his neck—

_The moment Uldren surrenders himself to the Reef, he is disarmed and quickly stuffed into a temporary holding room. Regent-Commander Petra has deemed him a suicide risk after listening to Illyn's testimony, citing mental instability and the very real possibility of harming himself. Thus the Awoken strike team who had been assigned to bring him in now watch his "cell" so carefully that he could almost feel the gazes burning a hole through the walls and into his head. If gazes could kill, Uldren muses he'd be dead —and for good reason, what with the seemingly wanton destruction and subsequent deaths he left in his wake._

_…and all for his sister. All for Mara. For Mara, who... she...._

_Uldren is guided over to where his transportation via containment unit to the Prison of Elders will take place. As they wait at the extraction point, he looks around aimlessly, seemingly despondent. A tingling of his skin followed by slender_ _fingers lightly touch the sides of his neck in a soothing motion, and Uldren basks in the warmth of his sister's presence emanating from the back of his mind, caring and reassuring..._

_It's raining._

_The pitter-patter of raindrops fills his ears with its gentle song. His clothes are starting to absorb water and are beginning to stick to his skin. In front of him was the sky, and in the back was the ground. Uldren doesn’t remember how he ended up being in this position, but he figures he must have passed out at some point if he’s somehow gone from standing up to lying on the ground in the blink of an eye without any recollection._

_It takes him a full minute to realise the crouching sniper beside him —_ _a familiar-looking Awoken man with a handsome face peering downwards, wary eyes seemingly questioning..._

_This stirs something_ _deep within his chest. Uldren frowns in response._ _This man...this specific sniper... Was there something he wanted from him at some point? Something...that was important?_

_Something...personal?_

_The more Uldren tries to think about it, the more he feels the answer evades him. He doesn’t remember. Just like the man’s name. Uldren doesn’t remember the name, but when he thinks about needing to remember it, he feels like his mind should just already_ know _. He feels he_ does _know. And...and that’s why this person was so familiar to him, right...? They were...something..._

_In the end, all he is left with is the persistent feeling of an elusive answer dancing at the tip of his tongue, further strengthened by the man’s narrow, intelligent eyes, the familiar armour, the purple-white-gold rifle favoured over all others—_

Uldren opens his eyes to see that same Awoken man staring back at him, with those same intelligent eyes that once looked at him as if though he were some random stranger now conveying concern and distress. For him.

“…..? ………?”

He doesn't understand the words coming from the man's lips. Everything is still muffled. The world feels as if though it were spinning round and round beneath him, the air becoming scarce in his lungs from the increasing pressure in his chest. 

They both continue to watch each other in silence, lost in each other's gaze. But it is not with relief and adoration, oh no no. The sickening, desperate, paralyzing fear that had plagued Uldren a few moments ago comes back with a vengeance, causing him to tense up the more he stares back. And soon, those eyes drag Uldren back into the depths of his memories. Back to the day of his surrender, surrounded by guards. Back to the day he submitted himself to Petra's prison.

To the day the owner of those eyes helped his jailers keep him away from his sister.

"…?'

Uldren lets out a cry, and the world opens up to him.

* * *

Jolyon Till the Rachis sighs for what he thinks is the fifteenth time today (or was it the fiftieth in a week? A month? Time means nothing in a place where it cannot be kept, apparently) as yet another round of palm-sized leaves make contact with his face, splashing him with water. He spits out the bit of liquid that had made it into his mouth and shakes his head.

Uldren snickers mischievously from in front of their two-man group. Jolyon flips him off. _Bastard_.

They were currently trudging through the bottom of a chasm that was densely packed with flora and fauna. White-vein brushes that grow as tall as trees brush their leaves against his head, while ferns and other shrubbery work to block his view of the path ahead. And every once in a while there would be some sort of hollowed-out bug or slithering vine trying to crawl up his pant leg that he would have to shake off lest it bit.

Being in the lower levels of the Black Garden reminded Jolyon of a jungle, one plagued by the sporadic showers that would turn the solid ground into ankle-deep pools of mud and flower petals—

Water hits Jolyon’s face, this time getting into his eyes with a sting.

—and turn plant leaves into carriers of watery payloads.

He ignores Uldren’s roaring laughter in favour of yanking out the offending leaf in its entirety, yet only managing to rip a piece off it instead. Up close, he could see little circuit-board teeth beginning to slide out from within broken plant skin. The tips of those razor-sharp teeth glow white in unison and they slowly start to spread out their thread-like fingers, aimlessly searching for their parent half.

Trying to wrap around his arm.

Jolyon tears his gaze from the sentient phenomenon and rips the threads off of his gloves, quickly tossing the broken piece as far away from him as possible. He then turns back around to face the prince, a threat lined up about keeping quiet—

And finds himself alone. Again.

He's just been ditched AGAIN.

_Gods up above, please grant me your infinite patience…_

At some point during his (increasingly frequent) rants to himself, Jolyon had entertained the notion of putting a leash with a bell on the man. It would be nice to have something that would both notify him the moment Uldren leaves his side to find “adventure” and allow him to reel in the runaway prince when he strays too far —not that Jolyon would be able to _truly_ control where his Royal stubborn Highness wants to go in the end, though. But it would save him the trouble of being run ragged chasing after Uldren before the other runs into danger.

Like the one they’re in currently.

The Black Garden. A place so exotic and so bizarre that it propagates its broken ideas and concepts in the air around them; a semi-sentient being capable of conforming itself to the prevailing abstract thought pattern and causing changes in its conceptual layout —their surroundings— to take root. It is an unknown, an anomaly detached from time, a potential BRAIN STAIN hazard.

And a place where Uldren had chosen to disregard the warnings and throw all caution to the wind just to sate his curiosity. Jolyon had no choice but to follow.

Laughter in the distance catches his attention. Jolyon turns to the direction it came from, brushes a few stray strands of hair from his face, and bellows at the top of his poorly abused lungs: “ULDREN SOV! For the last TIME, STOP. RUNNING. _AHEAD_!”

Uldren’s response carries as an echo in the wind, light and carefree. “But you’re not hurrying up, Jol! We still have so much to left see, so much ground to cover, and you’re walking much too _slow_!”

_So much left to…no._ Jolyon rubs his temples and exhales a shaky breath of air. _Just, no._

Right now, he’s cold, he’s tired, he’s hungry… and this entire journey is, quite frankly, a bloody fucking _nightmare_ and Jolyon’s had enough of trekking through pig-pen-like conditions for the sake of curiosity. All he wants is to go home and lay down on his soft mattress, take an hour-long hot shower to relieve the sore muscles he’s received throughout their trip and get some actual, _real_ food into his stomach instead of the shitty nutritional ration bars the two of them have been consuming so far —no offense to the Food and Agricultural department of the Awoken Military (bless their souls).

Why did he let Uldren convince him again?

Jolyon pulls out a knife from within its sheath attached to his hip and sighs.

Oh. _Riiight_. It’s because the other option was turning Uldren down and getting lambasted by the Queen later on when they both learn her brother’s gone and offed himself trying to get _in_.

A quick slice through the air. A pathway slowly forms.

Don’t get him wrong, he knows Uldren can take care of himself just fine. The man’s quite skilled in hand-to-hand combat, and despite his preference for knives and daggers, he is well-versed in the usage of numerous weapons found out in the field (the non-descriptive revolver the prince keeps holstered on his belt is only pulled for emergencies, and he’s a real good shot). Everyone and their Grandma know of Prince Uldren Sov’s feats in battle; of the skills, cunning, and field-reserved intelligence he exhibits whenever he’s faced with impossible odds, the stories of his constant brush with danger serving to boost his image of a powerful warrior for their people. A hero with no fear.

There is a reason why Uldren is the Queen’s spymaster —the highly regarded Master of Crows— and it’s not just because he’s the Queen’s twin brother. Uldren’s leadership skills and expertise in retrieving sensitive intel are uncanny. It is why Jolyon and the rest of the Crow agents trust the Master of Crows with their lives.

And yet there are things Jolyon himself is privy to as Uldren’s right-hand man. Things that no one but the most favoured of Crows is allowed to see. Like, case-in-point: the moments where Uldren suddenly forgets himself in his little thirst for adventure and excitement, subconsciously discarding the annoyingly haughty, arrogant, prince persona he’s known for and exchanging it for that of a complete and utter man-child who proceeds to do stupid things like _frolicking about in an unknown and dangerous Vex-created organic garden without a care for his safety._

The vines are holding him back.

Several awful dark green vines with their tiny letter teeth wrapped around his shoes, and he could feel the tug of those same vines on the barrel of his rifle strapped on his back. The Garden shows him a terrifying image of being encased in a cocoon of vines and blooming red flowers. It’s reminiscent of a fly caught in a spider’s web, ready to be eaten. The added pressure on Jolyon’s chest makes the entire scene feel real and he frantically swings his knife around, cutting the vines off him before they could make what he saw into reality.

He shudders.

Fuck the Black Garden. Fuck its bastardised version of plants and critters that line the chasm’s undergrowth; for the sporadic rain that comes from the light-green mists above, soaking their clothes and leaving them cold; for having to walk through countless terraformed valleys, chasms, and hills crawling with Vex and their moss-covered stone constructs.

For luring Uldren in with the promise of its so-called _secrets_.

Jolyon had promised to always be by the prince’s side, making sure that the Awoken royalty came back from his many unorthodox adventures safe and sound. But _THIS_? This was the _WORST_ decision he could have ever made in his _ENTIRE_. _FUCKING_. _LIFE_. And that’s not counting the situation that resulted in his blue skin being dyed bright green. At least that was just a harmless prank gone awry during their time in the Academy, amongst their people. Among friends. All in the safety of _home_.

But here? Inside of the Garden that their Queen has decreed forbidden to enter?

They really shouldn’t be here, they _REALLY_ shouldn’t. The Queen’s word is Law. _Absolute_. But that wasn’t going to stop Uldren, oh, no no _no_ , and now they’ve gone and defied her… Jolyon does not wish to dwell on what the repercussions would be for them both when they return to the Dreaming City, for he knows it will be well-earned. Not even being the Queen’s twin brother would save Uldren from her wrath, though it might work in their favour to lessen any penalties —and that’s if she’s feeling benevolent.

But if he could turn back the hands of time he would, just to convince Uldren that this was a bad idea and to find something else to do that wouldn’t get them into—

A blood-curdling scream sends chills down his spine and freezes him mid-step.

—trouble…

It takes mere seconds for Jolyon to register the voice as Uldren’s, and another few for his body to kick into overdrive.

“ _ULDREN!_ ” he shouts as loudly as he could over the pitter-patter of rain that begins to fall from the mist, but there are no further responses to his calls. Uldren’s transmit switch stays silent. Jolyon wastes no time in running towards the direction he thinks the prince’s scream originated from, Supremacy rifle in hand and finger on the trigger.

His guess is rewarded when a weak moan comes from behind a few teal-coloured bushes.

Uldren is lying on the ground a little ways off from the beaten path. Dirty with mud and vomit, his Crow leader seemed disoriented, shaken, and in the process of spitting out a red substance from his mouth. The colour of blood.

“Fuck…!”

Uldren stops moving as soon as Jolyon reaches his position. Crouching by the prince’s side, his eyes roam the man’s body, looking for any sources of injury but finding nothing except a small cut on his forehead. Questions assessing the other’s condition go unanswered and Jolyon starts to worry.

In this defenseless state, Uldren looked so frail and small, and the scene causes his stomach to twist with guilt. It was his duty as a loyal servant of the Queen and the right-hand man of the Master of Crows to protect his leader from harm. He’s never failed to be there for Uldren in every assignment they’ve been on together.

And yet…

Uldren is _hurt_.

The prince isn’t responding to his questions.

His best friend lays deathly silent, eyes closed and face eerily still.

_Like a statue._

Jolyon presses a finger to the side of the man’s neck, feeling for a heartbeat. Any. Even a faint one. He could work with faint. Just as long as it meant that his prince —the haughty, smartass, secretly-a-child Prince Uldren— was still _alive_ , still _breathing_ , and would open his eyes to—

To stare back at him.

Jolyon blinks. Breathes in and then exhales.

Uldren is _staring_ at him.

They both watch each other in silence. The light above them hits Uldren’s eyes and Jolyon temporarily loses himself within those bright twin orbs of rich amber-orange, could feel them peering into the depths of his soul, unraveling him. And for a moment he could see the light held within them flicker and dim, glazing over…

“Uldren?” Jolyon says, carefully. “Are you okay?”

No response. More staring.

“Uldren, please, say some—”

Jolyon is startled by Uldren suddenly jolting upright with a loud shout; the prince’s fist connects with the Crow agent's jaw and his head snaps to the side from the sheer brute strength in the attack. Jolyon's body twists along to the momentum of the blow and loses its balance, meeting the muddy ground with a loud splash.

Around them, the wind blows. Leaves rustle. The rain picks up.

**-:-**

Nothing happens at first. The rain continues to pelt down on him. No one moves. It’s as if the world were holding its breath in anticipation of the climax.

Uldren’s eyes widen with shock.

Beside him lies the Awoken man he had just knocked down to the ground with a punch fuelled with as much force as he could muster in his weakened state. And slung across said man’s back was the purple-white-gold-themed sniper rifle, its suppressor displaying an etching of a checkmark near the exit.

A checkmark that Uldren remembers accidentally making on his…his friend’s…

_Oh, come on! Look on the bright side, at least this way I'll know it's always you, even when I can't see you!_

_You and your excuses, Uldren. Really..._

It all clicks in his head.

“J-Jol…?”

Then, chaos.

The Awoken Strike team jumps into action, descending upon him with a furious vengeance over his assault on one of their own. Uldren bolts off the floor, snatching the rifle off the sniper's- _Jolyon_ ’s back and quickly places some distance between himself and their weapons. “Stand down!” Uldren hears one of them, a female, yell but he does not heed, raising the rifle and taking aim. He has changed his mind about going to prison. There was still so much left for him to do, and this little “trip” will only be a hindrance. Surely his sister will understand the change to their plans?

Two shots ring out. The rifle kicks back into his shoulder and Uldren stumbles from the recoil. He misses.

A gloved fist flies near his face and he barely manages to dodge; Uldren notes the lack of weapon usage from the strike team as they all rush to trade blows. This brings a smile to his face and a rekindled fire in his eyes as he sidesteps their attacks. Petra must really want him alive and unharmed if they’re refusing the easy way out. Refusing to shoot to subdue. Or it could be because Uldren is still the Queensbrother, despite the horrible things he’s done to arrive at this point. Regardless, he was a very skilled fighter and lived for the thrill that came with facing opponents on the ring. Especially in fights where the odds were so clearly stacked against him.

…but then again, it's not like _he_ was forbidden from shooting people.

Dancing away from their reach, Uldren raises the rifle and once again aims.

Two more shots ring out from its chamber. This time, he lands a hit—

Wooden shrapnel flies in all directions. Pieces of large whitish leaves from a bush the size of a tree flutter in the air. Uldren stands still, watches them fall to the ground to mix in with the mud and other decomposing plant matter ankle-deep around him.

Once again breathing in the fetor of a place not so easily forgotten.

“I…what…?”

Uldren takes a second to look around him in shock.

It's the Garden. He is actually in the Black Garden. Uldren knows this is real because the memories of the Garden were burned permanently into his mind along the nightmares of its unnatural secrets that constantly and consistently plagued his sleep: of a grotesque heart at its center, pulsating, beating, _LIVING_. He could feel the rain falling, could hear the sounds of leaves and mud shifting from the water hitting their surfaces, could smell the dampness of his clothes and could taste the mixture of sweat, blood, and bits of mud that had gotten into his mouth.

This was the Black Garden. He woke up here before... but he was with... and then...

Uldren chokes back a cry of horror.

This was all _wrong_. He wasn't here before, was he? He swears he was with people and they were waiting for transport to the prison and then he somehow got FREE and was going to ESCAPE to SAVE HIS SISTER and…

And…

_Was it ever real?_

“I…can’t be here…” Uldren’s voice breaks as he speaks. “This…this isn’t real…This…isn’t…REAL…!” His whole body trembled fiercely, hands tightly clenching the sniper rifle caked in mud while looking up at the green mists that hang overhead. Raindrops enter his eyes but he endures the pain it produces, uses it to fuel his screams of denial. His crescendo.

He can’t be back here. He was going to save Mara. He was FREE. HE was GOING to SAVE MARA. He can’t be here. HE CAN’T— 

“…ren! Stop and listen to me!”

His screams die instantly.

Someone was shouting at him from behind. Someone familiar. The rain bearing down on him made the words difficult to hear but he catches the tail-end of the command. Uldren spins around to face the person, rifle raised and ready to shoot.

It is Jolyon Till the Rachis, teller of tales, the most trusted of his Crows, and his faithful companion through thick and thin that stands at the end of his line of sight. His hands are up in a placating manner, eyeing the barrel warily.

Uldren blinks and the Garden suddenly disappears from view. He finds himself once again at the mercy of the Reef, trying to escape his captors. 

Trying to escape from Jolyon.

_An impossibility._

“Uldren, please…put the rifle down,” the Crow agent says calmly while the rest of the strike team hang back to block the path out, their weapons drawn but pointed downward, “and back away from there before you get hurt. Okay?”

A sidelong glance notes nothing but a long drop-off behind him. A void. Uldren is standing near the edge of a cliff.

The rain shifts into a downpour.

_It was never raining before, was it...?_

The tip of his knife catches dim light and gleams, its presence revealed once more on his person. In its sheath. 

_T-that..that wasn't...but they disarmed..._

Uldren shakes his head furiously. There was no time for doubts. He still had a chance to save her, he still had a CHANCE-!

“No.” 

Jolyon stills. “Your Highness, please—“

“No," Uldren repeats in firm defiance. "You are NOT putting me away in prison, Jolyon. You can’t keep me away from my destiny! Away from my sister!”

To this, Jolyon gives him a puzzled look. “Put you in... what prison, Uldren?" he asks him. "What are you talking about?”

The confused tone in the question makes Uldren burst into sardonic laughter. “Do not dare lie to me, Jolyon Till the _traitor!_ You, who says he is loyal to the Queen! Loyal to me! Yet you defy her WISHES?”

He steps back until he could feel the wall of emptiness beckoning from behind him.

“Don’t you see, Jol?” he continues, animated and giddy with excitement. “Mara _speaks_ to me! She's been speaking to me for so long! And all she asks for is salvation. _Devotion_. From her people, her _creations!_ We are nothing more than mere _pawns_ in her grand design for the Awoken! We owe our entire _lives_ to her, Jol. Why you and the others can't see that.."

Uldren sticks one foot off of the edge. Holds it still. Balances slightly on his other leg. Jolyon's eyes widen with alarm.

"...is rather infuriating.”

Jolyon does not respond to him, but that was fine. It was all fine. This was to be expected. Jolyon had never really understood the bond he shared with his sister; of his complete devotion to her plans and secrets. His loyalty was to his people, yes. But even more so to a Queen. To his sister. Even if it meant he had to suffer for her plans to come to fruition. Mara always came first. So Uldren smiles with a mix of fondness and sympathy for his so-called "friend", whose face he sees suddenly twist in horror with the realization of what is about to occur.

“I’m going to save my sister, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

**-:-**

Two things happen simultaneously that make Jolyon’s heart race.

One: Uldren shoots at him. Uldren —his best friend, his superior— actually _shoots at him_. But thankfully it was a miss. Jolyon counts his blessings that he shifted positions right before the bullet reached his chest’s armor plating, grazing his arm instead. From that close a distance, a sniper’s bullets are no joke. The altercation leaves him with a minor flesh wound that stings but is deemed unimportant for the moment.

Two: The prince had backed himself up against the edge of the pit and _stepped off_. Luckily he was still clutching Jolyon’s Supremacy rifle with an iron-tight grip, so Jolyon quickly grabs onto the rifle’s slippery barrel with one hand and yanks it upwards, pulling Uldren’s arms up along with it. With his other hand, he takes hold of Uldren’s suit’s sleeve and together the combination of moves helps with dragging the other Awoken man away from death.

They soon begin to push and pull against each other, each fighting for possession of the Supremacy. Eventually, Jolyon gains the upper hand: a well-timed headbutt to Uldren’s forehead serves to loosen his hold on the rifle as he cried out in pain. It provides the Crow agent the opening needed to finally wrench the weapon away from Uldren and toss it to the side, far from reach.

For safety and good measure, Jolyon tosses his own knife to the side as well.

Uldren staggers back, grabbing at the sides of his head and groaning in pain. The sounds soon turn into laughter that grows louder and increasingly manic until the prince looks back up, amber-yellow eyes filled with fury and madness.

_Unhinged_ , _unrestrained_ madness.

Before Jolyon could get a word in, the prince lets loose an animalistic scream that sent shivers down his spine.

_This isn't my friend anymore_ , Jolyon thinks with concealed horror, _this is a monster._

Uldren shoots towards him with a speed that takes him completely by surprise. A gloved fist aims straight for his face; Jolyon just barely manages to shield against the blow with his arms. Jolyon quickly latches onto Uldren’s wrist, tries to use the momentum to pull him down, but the latter twists away from his grasp, retaliating with another punch that meets with empty air.

Jolyon skids back, attempting to place some distance between himself and…that monster. But once again, he braces for impact as Uldren charges at him —a knife firmly grasped in his hands.

_Duck, duck, sidestep_. Jolyon evades each swish of the blade, noting each of Uldren’s slashes as sloppy and uncoordinated. But _predictable_. A wide arc created during one of his frantic swings provides an opportunity to disarm and Jolyon takes it, kicking Uldren’s stomach with his foot and prying the knife away. Jolyon also snatches Uldren’s revolver during the prince's failed pass aimed at knocking him down to the ground and tosses both items in one of the bushes behind him.

Without his knife or gun to defend him, Uldren snarls and goes for a right hook aimed at his jaw. Jolyon quickly ducks and sends in a few punches of his own, one of them successfully meeting with the side of Uldren’s face. Jolyon follows up the assault by grabbing the prince’s wet shoulders to execute a knee strike to the stomach, but it fails as Uldren smashes his head against Jolyon's. The Crow agent staggers back, stars dancing in his vision, and the Garden tilts sideways as Uldren takes advantage of his disorientation to sweep his legs out from right under him.

And then makes a run for the rifle.

“ _ULDREN, NO!_ ”

It was only the countless years of training with the prince as a sparring partner that boosted Jolyon’s reaction time. The Crow agent pushed off from the muddy ground and was on Uldren in an instant, knocking him away from the weapon.

They both go down to the ground in a mess of limbs; Jolyon forces Uldren into a seated position, back against his chest, and locks him in a sleeper hold.

Uldren thrashes against him, pulls on his hair, tries to poke his eyes…anything that would free him from the arm around his neck. But Jolyon had the advantage of being the taller between the two and was built slightly stronger, making it difficult for the shorter Awoken man to shake him off so easily. So Jolyon shrugs off Uldren‘s weakening attempts to break free, ignores the feeble chants of “ _traitor_ ” directed his way, and mentally counts down the seconds to the inevitable.

_4, 3, 2,1…._

Jolyon lets his arms fall gradually to the side. The unconscious form of his Royal Highness Prince Uldren Sov remains leaning against him, the prince's head resting on his chest. He remains sitting, trying to recollect himself from the day’s events. And after a while, he slowly raises a trembling hand to brush a strand of hair away from Uldren's face and lets go of the breath he was holding.

Uldren looked so peaceful. As if the prince were sleeping to regain strength after a long day of exploring instead of being knocked out cold as a result of restricted blood flow to his brain.

It takes Jolyon a while to connect this Uldren —the Queen’s brother, the Master of Crows, his best friend— to the monster he fought with a few minutes ago. The monster that screamed nonsense in the throes of sudden delusion and insanity. The monster who didn’t even bat an eye after failing to murder him with his own weapon, laughing like a madman with nothing left to lose.

The monster who had suddenly possessed his friend.

Still in shock, Jolyon slowly rises to his feet. He silently picks up his own knife and cleans the mud off its blade, placing it back in its sheath; retrieves the Supremacy from where he tossed it, refills its ammo, connects the straps onto the rifle, and carries it hanging over his shoulder. Uldren’s knife and revolver are recovered and tied securely with the extra rifle strap fastened to his belt. Jolyon then moves to carry Uldren’s unconscious body over his shoulder, groaning slightly from the added weight but withstanding the pressure for the sake of urgency.

Whatever that was…whatever just happened back there…. Jolyon shudders at the memory. They should have never gone inside this cursed place. He should have done his best to dissuade Uldren from coming here. But he relented, had allowed this trip to occur without authorization from the Queen. And for what? There were no secrets here, only nightmares. The Black Garden was a disease, a wretched parasite that had slowly wormed its way inside Uldren's mind and drove him mad. Jolyon had to get himself and the prince out of here while he still had a chance.

Before the Garden consumed him, too.

The rain stops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jolyon. You have no idea what you're going to be saddled with later, kiddo.


End file.
